: Chapter 8

The second the buzzing stops, I fly from my chair leaving Savo, one of my guards, to sort out payment and escort the man from the grounds. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I open up the security feed, tossing the fucking thing against the wall and storming down the hall when still, the app refuses to connect.

I knew I should have brought the iPad down with me.

Glancing at my watch, I find it’s nearly eight in the morning. Boston should be climbing from the shower right about now.

I bet my little bride is angry this morning. She hates to be told what to do, so I made sure to do exactly that after the shit she pulled last night, sitting there like a little doll with lips curved into the perfect, plastic smile that’s glued shut by design.

If I have to take a blade and cut those lips apart to get her to use them, I will.

That might have been how Boston Revenaw was required to be, but like I told her. Boston Revenaw no longer exists.

She’s Boston Fikile now.

My bride.

My wife.

And let us not forget, my ticket into all the districts, a result of our marriage as she seems determined to focus on.

With my name tied to hers, and Bastian Bishop taking over as the new head of the Revenaw empire, my future is looking better than it was. A lot cleaner too.

Before Boston, I thought I’d have to mop the floor red with her dear old daddy—the old-timer refused to see the new way was the only fucking way. Thankfully, the man who took his place came from where I did—the dark corner of the world and not the typical one the men of the mafia are born into. The ones buried in the dirt and shit on over and over again until they find a way to do the shitting. In my case, it was the purchase of a two-dollar aluminum bat at a yard sale.

Only took a couple swings and the harsh crush of a skull to get my ass out, and from that day, I’ve yet to stop swinging. I’ve just traded out one aluminum weapon for another.

A single-wide for a secluded mansion.

A bachelor life for a bad bride.

To the outside world, I’m a business owner. A young gun who struck luck in the stock market and bought his way to the top. Technically, they’re not wrong. That did happen.

It happened in the sense I was hired to drive a semi across the border with twenty-one kilos strapped to the undercarriage in exchange for a significant amount of cash. I took that cash and threw it all into stocks, doubling and then tripling my investment. And then I did it again and again until I had what I needed to get my legal security company off the ground, so I had a cover for the illegal underground one. It just so happens both endeavors proved lucrative, growing my wealth pretty much overnight.

Mino, my second and closest friend, steps up, passing me my weapon, freshly cleaned and fully loaded. I shove it into the holster near my right hip, and accept my jacket next, sliding it on and buttoning the first two buttons.

“How long until the fucking app is fixed?”

“Should be up by lunch, boss, but all feeds look good on the main server. Try not to break the screen on this thing before then.” He passes me my phone next and I slip it in the chest pocket sewn on the inseam. My money clip is the last thing he hands me, but I don’t put it away just yet, instead, running my thumb over the golden seal stamped into the front as it hangs at my side.

A gift to myself, purchased the moment I left my future wife on that island she called me to.

Stepping around the corner, we meet another one of my men and he bows his head as he opens the door to the hall leading to the south wing of the mansion—my work wing.

Six men are inside, spine straight and attention focused on nothing as they face forward. “Protocol 4,” I order, and all at once, they pull their bandanas down, letting them rest loosely against their necks, their full faces now revealed—something they are only allowed to do when asked and we’re in closed quarters with zero outsiders.

I cross the threshold into the room, taking in each one from head to toe as I walk by. I make it to the second before pausing. “Out.”

The man says nothing, just refits his bandana over his nose, spins on his combat boots, and goes back to his regular duty.

I know all these men. They wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, but they’re not here to chat so using their names is unimportant right now.

Behind me, Mino tries to cover a laugh by clearing his throat and I whirl around, raising a brow at him, but the bastard only grins.

Mino has been with me since the beginning, when we were nothing but two punks stepping out of juvenile hall as penniless eighteen-year-olds. He’s the man who would take over both my surface persona and underground one if someone managed to take me out, and one of two people I trust in my life. I would sign everything I have over to the man, hand him a loaded gun and turn around without a single ounce of fear he’d pull the trigger. He’s family in every way but blood, and he’s laughing like he’s got a secret he can’t wait to share.

I turn back to my men, sending the fourth and fifth in line away, focusing on the sixth.

“You were just moved to warehouse watch,” I say to Garrett.

“Yes, boss.”

“You want this position?”

His eyes slide to mine, his mouth forming a tight line, and a low chuckle leaves me.

“I asked.” My grin is slow. “I won’t tear your tongue out for answering honestly.”

Garrett gives a curt nod, shaking his head a second later. “No, boss. I don’t. I like where I’m at.”

“Good.” I jerk my head toward the door, and he visibly exhales as he fixes his bandana, exiting a moment later.

I focus on the last two, considering them both.

Henderson is ex-military, turned private investigator, turned Fikile soldier. He’s got the nose of a dog and patience of a saint. He’s a weapon I like having in my arsenal. He’d be perfect for the job.

The other, Connelly, was a correctional officer at a maximum-security prison upstate. He was fired for fucking a lawyer in an interrogation room…while her abusive husband sat handcuffed to the chair across from them, forced to watch the show.

My brows snap together. “Out.”

Connelly bows his head, remasks himself, and leaves the room.

Mino steps up beside me, slapping his hand on my shoulder as he looks to the last man standing. “Go on, Henderson.”

Henderson holds still for three seconds, and when I don’t demand he stay, he too leaves the room.

Mino looks to me, trying and failing to fight a fucking smirk.

“Don’t,” I warn, but he ignores me.

“Knew you’d send option number two packing the minute you laid eyes on him.”

I glare, refusing to ask why, not that I need to. I know fucking why.

The guy looks like me.

Six-two with dark hair and dark hazel eyes. An easy hundred and ninety pounds of pure, hard-earned muscle. The kind you get from fighting by the canals and doing pull-ups on busted park hoops. There’s a reason I use the fucker as my decoy when a decoy is necessary.

“But I gotta say, though, my man,” Mino eggs on. “I didn’t expect you to be worried about the pretty boy.”

“I’m worried about no one.”

“Uh-huh. Then why have we spent the last six days sending away man after man?”

He’s not looking for an answer and he doesn’t get one.

I pull my phone out, sending a quick message, and not two minutes later, the second person I trust with my life walks in.

“Mr. Fikile.” She bows her head, bringing her eyes to mine.

“Boston isn’t to leave the grounds if I’m not with her.”

Her lips tighten, concern for my bride hidden in her aged eyes, but she only asks, “For how long this time, sir?”

“As long as it takes him to find someone he’s willing to allow to babysit her without him watching their every move.”

I shoot Mino a look as he chuckles.

“I see.” The woman who raised my sister when she didn’t have to fights a smile. “So…indefinitely then.”

Mino throws his head back with a laugh and I don’t miss hers as she spins on her heel and walks out.

This time around with Boston here is different than the last. When she had first arrived so many months ago, I was in the middle of a small war, one I couldn’t allow the rest of the West Coast underground to find out about. That meant I had to hide from my then bride-to-be, keep her concealed. It was the only way she’d be safe. Of course, that turned her against me, and locking her away now won’t help my case any, but she will come to understand. I’ll make her. And if I’m but one thing, it’s convincing.

Sighing, I drop down into the seat behind my desk with a glare.

If I’m honest, these two are not wrong.

I’m not sure there’s a man on this planet I’d trust with her. Even if I found one, I don’t think I’d assign him to her.

The fact of the matter is I don’t want a man who isn’t me spending time with my bride, and yes, being her driver counts. I realize this is a problem, but I don’t care.

She’s mine, and if there’s one man she’s going to spend her time with, it’s going to be me.